Twelve (31 page)

Fear begged me to just leave Vadim's body where it was and get out into the light as soon as I possibly could, but that would not have been decent. He needed to be buried and this cellar was as good a place as any. Even so, we worked quickly, and as we first dug and then filled in the grave, it was with a wary eye over our shoulders towards the dark breach in the wall, in case the vampires returned the way they had left.

W
E RETURNED TO THE INN. THE INNKEEPER WAS, IN KEEP
ing with the hospitability of his profession, overjoyed to see Dmitry. He showered him with questions as to where he had been and what he had been doing – questions which I too hoped soon to have answered. Dmitry's responses were noncommittal.

'Oh, Captain Danilov,' called the innkeeper after me as I made my way up to my rooms.

'Yes?' I replied.

'Your young lady was round last night. I had to tell her you weren't here.'

'What time?'

'Gone midnight, sir.'

'Did she say anything?'

'Nothing, sir. She just went home again.'

'Thank you.'

I was abominably tired and my first thought was that a few hours' delay in seeing her would not be too significant. I continued up to my room and lay on my bed. My head had scarcely hit the pillow when I realized what Domnikiia must be thinking. She knew what creatures I was up against and that I was out looking for them. Coming here to find I wasn't back at that late hour, she would have concluded either that I had found them or that they had found me. (I still wasn't too sure myself exactly which had been the case.) The longer I delayed seeing her, the more worried she would be that they had been the victors. I hauled myself off the bed and set out to find her.

It was still early, and the brothel was not yet open for business. I hammered on the door and it was answered by Pyetr Pyetrovich.

'We're closed,' he told me.

'I've come to see Dominique,' I said, pushing my way in.

'Oh, it's you,' he said. 'This is a place of business, you know. You can't just call when you please. Not without paying.'

I walked past him, pulling my coat to one side to make sure he got a clear view of the sword I was wearing, and headed up the stairs.

'If you like Dominique so much, we could come to some more permanent arrangement,' he called after me.

Domnikiia was still in bed, but awake. She sat up as I entered. I sat on the bed beside her. She looked intently at my face, but said nothing, her eyes searching my expression for some clue as to what had been happening.

'We found Vadim,' I told her.

'Really?' She sounded pleased. For a moment I didn't realize how ambiguous I had been.

'No, it's not like that. He's dead.' I rested my head on her shoulder and tears ran down my cheek, though I just about managed to keep my voice steady. 'Dead since just after I last saw him.'

She stroked my hair and murmured soothing words. Though it had not been my intention when I entered the room, I pushed her down on to the bed and made very selfish love to her. There was little pleasure in it for me, and less for her, but it fulfilled in me merely the need to obliterate for a moment every higher thought and every human emotion, to descend to the level of an animal where nothing but the moment matters. Considerations of the future, of my responsibilities, of those around me, all could be forgotten just briefly – all too briefly. It was the way a soldier screws a woman he has never met before and knows he will never see again. He might pay for it – he might not have to. Although I had paid Domnikiia many times before, I had never had such disregard for the person beneath me. It was not about her. It was about allowing me to forget her along with everything else.

For her part, I can only suppose she was used to such things, though, I hoped, not from me. I think she was happy enough to perform it as a service for me, as a wife might prepare her husband's dinner or wash his clothes. For me, it had nothing to do with her, and any woman in the building could have taken her place. But she would have seen that as a betrayal, much the same as if a husband got another woman to make his dinner or wash his clothes – a betrayal not of the heart, but of the partnership.

'What's to become of us, Lyosha?' she asked a little while afterwards.

It was the question every faithless husband must dread.

'I've no idea.'

'Neither have I,' she said. 'That's the problem.'

'Is it a problem?'

'Not at the moment.'

'There's still a war. I could be dead tomorrow.' I decided to give myself a little leeway. 'Or the day after that.'

'I know. That's why it's not a problem, but one day it will be.'

'Only if we both survive,' I said with a mirthless laugh.

'Or if the war never ends.'

'So you want an unending war, with us both under the threat of death, but never actually dying, just so we can stay together without our consciences bothering us?' I asked lightly, though the very mention of conscience almost made me shiver at the memory of a different, recent conversation.

'That would just about do it,' she said with a grin.

'I'll have a word with the crowned heads of Europe, then. See if they'll help us out.'

'They seem to be doing pretty well already.'

It was a silly conversation, as trivial as many we had had before, allowing us daily to forget reality, but today it could do little to lift our mood.

I sat up on the side of the bed and glanced towards the table. On it was a letter. I could not see the content, but the single word of the signature screamed out at me: Iuda.

'What's this?' I asked, picking up the letter.

'Ah, yes,' said Domnikiia. 'I was going to tell you about that. Very mysterious – especially from a man you told me was dead.'

'You should have mentioned it,' I snapped.

'I was going to,' she insisted, upset by my tone, 'if you'd given me the chance. Polya – one of the girls – found it when she opened up this morning. It was slipped under the door, addressed to me. Read it. It's more for you than for me anyway.'

I opened the letter and read it silently.

Mademoiselle Dominique,

As I am sure you will have heard from our mutual friend Aleksei Ivanovich, our mission in your country has not gone according to the plans that were originally conceived. It is to my utmost regret that this has led to deep misunderstandings arising between myself and Aleksei Ivanovich, for which I must immediately acknowledge my share of blame. Sadly, affairs have come to such a state between us that it is now impossible for us even to communicate the simplest of requests to one another and, as I'm sure you will readily comprehend, this is no basis from which we can easily find any remedy to the situation.

I therefore entreat you, Mademoiselle Dominique, as Aleksei Ivanovich's close friend (and, I dare to flatter myself, as mine) to act as an intermediary, that you might help to heal this melancholy rift between two formerly hearty and successful comrades. If you would desire to help in this matter, then my simple request is that you convey to Aleksei Ivanovich my petition to meet with him at seven in the evening on the twenty-eighth day of October at the crossroads to the south of the village of Kurilovo. He will know this location better, perhaps, as U4, although I shall not bore you with details of why it is so designated.

Please express to Aleksei Ivanovich the utter sincerity of my wish to meet with him and my fondest hope that with a few minutes of conversation, we can resolve any confusion that may have led to the distressing rift that now exists between us. If Aleksei Ivanovich cannot or chooses not to attend, then please assure him of my continued devotion to both him and his country, and please also, Mademoiselle Dominique, appreciate the heartfelt affection that I hold for you personally.

Your devoted friend,

Iuda.

'He does gush,' I said scornfully.

'I think it's nice that he makes the effort.'

'You are joking, aren't you?'

She put her chin on my shoulder and I felt her arms around my waist. 'Yes, Aleksei Ivanovich, I am joking.'

'I mean you only met him once, and that was for five minutes.'

'Absolutely,' she said in heartfelt agreement. 'And of course on top of that, he
is
a vampire.'

'Are you teasing me, Mademoiselle Dominique?'

'Well, you sound like a jealous husband going through my correspondence.'

'When did you get this?' I asked.

'I said, this morning, when Polya got up.'

'When was that?'

'About ten o'clock. We work late here.'

'And when did you close up last night?'

'Around two.'

'So this could have arrived any time between two and ten?'

'Yes,' she replied, with emphasized patience. 'Does it matter?'

It mattered a lot. If Iuda had delivered it before our meeting the previous night, then that presented a number of possibilities. Our encounter that night might not have been as premeditated as it had seemed, at least not on Iuda's part, or it might have been that he had all along expected me to escape. A third possibility was that the letter was not intended for me at all, but was solely for the benefit of Domnikiia, to whom, after all, it had been addressed. Could this be to persuade her to attend the meeting in my place? It seemed unlikely. Could it be to give Iuda a veneer of innocence in Domnikiia's eyes once my death was discovered? That was more believable.

On the other hand, if the letter had been delivered this morning, after I had seen him, then it would make more sense, but since Iuda would have been unable to travel in daylight, he must have had human assistance in delivering it. Was this some errand boy he had simply hired for a few copecks, or did he have human servants of a more devoted nature? The obvious suspect would have been Dmitry, but Dmitry had been with me all the time.

'Are you going to go to the meeting?' she asked.

'I think so.'

'Won't it be dangerous?'

'I'll have Dmitry with me.'

'You mean Dmitry's in Moscow? I thought he went back to the army.'

'No, he had other things to do.'

'Do you trust him?'

'I do now.'

'You mean you didn't before?' she asked.

'I did before, but I was wrong.'

'And now you're right?'

'Dmitry's run out of options.'

She paused for a moment before asking, 'How far is Kurilovo?'

'Not far,' I replied. 'We'll set off the day after tomorrow. I'd better go.'

We made our goodbyes and I left, taking Iuda's letter with me. I went back to the inn and slept for most of the afternoon. Early in the evening, there was a knock at my door. It was Dmitry. I showed him the letter.

'Well, you're not going, are you?' he asked dismissively.

'Yes, I think we are.'

'We?'

'Yes, Dmitry, we.'

'But it's so obviously a trick,' he insisted.

'Do you know the crossroads he mentions?'

'No, I don't think I do.'

'It's a very good place to meet someone you don't trust. There's a clear view all around. We'll easily be able to see if he's brought anyone with him.'

'Do you think he knows that?'

'Possibly,' I replied. 'They may have come that way as they made the last stretch of their journey here from Tula. I think he's chosen the place so that we'll both feel safe.'

'You think he's afraid of you?' asked Dmitry, betraying by the edge in his voice the fear he felt for the Oprichniki – a fear which had been in him all the time, but which only gained substance when he discovered they had become his enemies.

'I hope he is,' I replied.

'I still don't think it's a good idea. They've left Moscow and soon they'll have left the country. Enough of them have died so that they won't come back. Let someone else deal with them. Let the French deal with them.'

'You think they won't come back?'

'Why should they?'

'Revenge. Look what they did to Maks. He'd killed three of them. I've killed four – even you've killed one.'

'They're practical – not spiteful.'

'Most of them maybe, but why would Iuda try to entice us into this meeting if his only plan was to get away? If we don't go, then he'll just have to come back here. He's already suggesting that Domnikiia might be at risk by sending the letter to her.'

'I suppose,' replied Dmitry contemplatively.

'Have you tried to track down Boris and Natalia at all?' I asked, ostensibly changing the subject.

'I went back to where they were staying,' said Dmitry, 'but the French had torn it all down.'

'I found out that their shop burnt down on the first day of the fires.'

'I know,' he said. 'Boris told me.'

'But I met someone who has seen them since Bonaparte's departure.'

'Really? Where?'

'Just around.'

'In that house this morning, I thought that one of the bodies might be . . .' Dmitry could not bring himself to say it.

'I know. I thought so too for a moment.'

'So when shall we set out for Kurilovo?' asked Dmitry, after a moment's pause.

'We'll leave the day after tomorrow, on the twenty-sixth. That will give us two days to get there.'

Domnikiia did manage to join me that night. On my instructions, her arrival was soon followed by that of the innkeeper, who brought us some supper and a bottle of wine. We sat at the small table in my room and talked of things of little consequence. Eventually, there was no option but to raise the subject of my journey to Kurilovo.

'So what time will you and Dmitry be setting off?' she asked.

'First light. We should be there by Sunday and then we'll have a whole day to check things out before the meeting on Monday.'

'Do you mind if I don't come over tomorrow night then?'

'Why? Don't you like the idea of being woken up so early?' I joked.

'I don't like the idea of waking up to see you go – or to find you gone.'

'OK,' I said, though the prospect struck me more harshly than I would have imagined.

'It's selfish of me, I know.'

'It's all right. If you were here, I probably wouldn't be able to leave.'

'You can have me all day tomorrow, though. I'm not going to work.'

'Can you? Just like that?'

'I can do what I like. Pyetr Pyetrovich is terrified of you.'

'Really?' I was surprised. 'I've barely ever spoken to him.'

'Yes, but I've said a few things, about what a great soldier you are and so forth – all exaggeration, of course.'